


Firsts.

by phantomunmasked



Category: The Closer
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 13:35:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1471729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomunmasked/pseuds/phantomunmasked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brenda, Sharon, and firsts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Firsts.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the folks at fuckyeahbrendasharon.tumblr.com, where one of April's themes was "First Time". 
> 
> Coincidentally, this is also my first time writing Brenda/Sharon. Comments most welcome!

There are many firsts in any relationship; first kisses, first hugs, first “I love you”s. No one ever pays heed to the small firsts, Sharon thinks, and that is why she never seems to agree quite as much with anyone interested in her for any significant period of time. Details mattered, and when you were a romantic like her, they mattered even more.

  
And so Sharon was pleasantly surprised to find that of all her lovers, it was the one she had least expected that remembered the little firsts, that made everyday fusses about them. Brenda was an affectionate person by nature; that much Sharon knew from simply observing the woman work. Brenda’s brand of affection comprised quiet appreciation and a quick humour that tempered her brusqueness, and Sharon admired it, even as she longed to be privy to it. It took her months, but Sharon knew _exactly_ how she was going to celebrate the first breach of Brenda’s carefully built mistrust of her.  In retrospect, it was, in many ways, Sharon’s favourite first about their relationship. For it was a carefully engineered affair - Sharon was not one to leave much to chance; a folder (whose contents drew a sincere, if tired, smile from Brenda) meant for the Chief casually dropped a microsecond too early; both women kneeling swiftly to retrieve the object; Sharon reaching deliberately for Brenda’s hand, warm fingers closing about the younger woman’s wrist. A whispered “I got it”, even as Sharon’s thumb swept gently over the inside of Brenda’s wrist, measured the stuttered pulse that jumped below pale skin. Green eyes had met surprised brown, and it was with a hum of pleasure that Sharon answered Brenda’s shy smile, her quiet utterance of “I know you do”.

 

The cycle of words and touches grew between them, and even now, months into a romance built of shy, hesitant utterances and trembling couplings they continue to blossom, a multitude of firsts furling upon themselves into a symphony of beautiful evocations. For Brenda understands the importance of firsts as much as Sharon does, and endeavours to make each day echo faintly of some first or other. It happens in the everyday ordinary; in how Brenda always kisses just so, in the archway of their kitchen, when they meet after a long day.

 

(they had first kissed there, shyly, when Brenda had drunk enough merlot to still her skittering pulse and Sharon had calmed the demons of her psyche with a tumbler of whiskey. Their first kiss was an odd combination of flavours, the sharpness of wine tangling with the smoked peat of an aged scotch, but then again, Sharon reflected, that was what they were.)

 

They had kissed there almost every day after, each time an enthralling continuance of the chapter their first kiss had started. For that was their life now; chapters in a book concurrently written, a veritable symphony of variations of themes, themes woven of their many firsts. They don’t ask for much ; both of them crave domesticity, a comfortable predictability that spins diametrically opposed to their daily chaos. Their life was a series _da capo_ defined, Sharon had thought, once.

(they’d been in bed then, Brenda nestled familiarly against her. Brenda liked to be held, and Sharon enjoyed holding, and so the two that once thought themselves so different found themselves fitting together in a most welcome manner)

 

_Da capo_ ; repetitions, flourished upon and ornamented by the artist. That was what relationships should be, Sharon had thought. Because endless novelty was tiresome, after a while. Better to have the familiarly beautiful and poignant repeated in a thousand different patterns than seek to create all new memories day after day. For the best memories are often the firsts in one’s life, and Sharon thinks that she would much rather live with a many shaded memory of a singular moment of bliss; a chord of a thousand harmonious notes that sang ever true of their bond. Much better that than a chorus of discordant bright voices, each clamouring for attention.

 

Brenda is Sharon’s first in so many ways that she knows she will not need the endless invention of novel experiences to cherish _this,_ whatever _this_ was that they had built. After all, it is not every day that you find the first (and last, if Sharon were so lucky) person that you thought you could spend the rest of your life with.


End file.
